blaugra: Earache, my eye!

I flew to San Diego and I brought with me a bad cold. Yes, I was one of those jackasses sitting next to you coughing and sneezing. But I managed to do it very delicately and with hand sanitizer. Because I wasn't about to miss my vacation.

The plane landed and couldn't hear. That's what I get for being a jackass.

I figured the ears would clear up in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Nope. So I did what I could. Yawning, stretching, chewing, steaming, decongesting, peroxiding. Four days later and people still sounded like Charlie Brown's mother. And the ear was starting to hurt like a mofo.

At that point of my vacation I was independently living without a car at my aunt's casita in a pretty neighborhood while she was away. The previous day I had worked on mastering San Diego's public transit system. Then I asked a couple of people where a good walk-in health center would be, but they didn't know. Google Maps couldn't tell me. So I went to a pharmacy to ask for advice. The pharmacist didn't know and referred me to another pharmacy, CVS, where they would know better.

I asked the CVS pharmacist, "My ears have been clogged for four days from my flight, I'm from out of town, I need a doctor. Can you recommend one?"

She asked me, "Have you tried yawning?"

Do you think I'm a fucking idiot? "I've tried everything."

"Do you have an ear infection?"

"I don't know. I need someone to look in my ear and diagnose it so I might get some antibiotics."

"When you fly you should use earplugs."

Thanks. Doesn't help me now, but I bought some for the flight home.

She referred me to another CVS with a minute clinic. That sounded good. Until she said it was a 10 minute drive. I could either find a cab, spend an hour on transit, or walk somewhere else. Where do people go around here for urgent care? "There's a clinic at the hospital a few blocks away..."

I walked to the clinic. I was starting to panic. Seriously, I get the anxiety really bad when I have to take care of myself.

The clinic was for poor uninsured people. Not me. So I found the actual hospital's ER.

This hospital made my hometown hospitals look like the Marriott. The TV in the waiting room was tuned to Shark Week, which just got me more stressed out. I felt like an asshole telling the check-in desk, "I have an earache." I could feel the anxiety start to burn.

The student nurse weighed me in kilograms. "Want to see it in pounds?" she asked. Sure, I mean, who the fuck weighs themselves in kilograms in the U.S.? Oh look I've lost 5 pounds! Yay!

Return to panic mode. She remarked, "Your blood pressure is really high. Is it normally that high?"

"No. It's because I'm here." The anxiety went into the red and I couldn't stop the tears. This is a problem I have that doesn't make any sense. One time at the doctor, they saw my high b.p. and hyperventilation in the office and wanted to prescribe blood pressure lowering meds right away. Even though I explained that I had anxiety issues and bipolar disorder. They only thought about treating the symptoms they saw in front of them, and they weren't listening. Dicks. Anyway. Maybe the crying would help unclog the ear.

The doctor came in, saw that I was hysterical, and I tried to explain to him that I just get this way, that the real problem was my ear.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, how badly does it hurt?"

Two, I answered.

Does a "two" rate a prescription of Vicodin? Apparently it does.

"When was your last period?"

I have an earache.

"Here are several prescriptions. It should clear up in a couple of days."

I paid my $100 co-pay, schlepped back to the casita, on the way getting momentarily distracted by a super-cute necklace in a window of a boutique... retail therapy, maybe that would help. No, I couldn't hear the sales person. Dammit. I packed the Vicodin to take home as a gift for Salty D., and chilled out in my aunt's little garden, surrounded by hummingbirds and butterflies.